


We Still Are What We Used to Be

by lionessvalenti



Category: White Collar
Genre: Established Relationship, Future Fic, Multi
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2010-03-30
Updated: 2010-03-30
Packaged: 2017-10-08 12:57:27
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,989
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/75858
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/lionessvalenti/pseuds/lionessvalenti
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Neal has considered himself officially retired for two years, but it's hard to resist a heist that's for all the right reasons.</p>
            </blockquote>





	We Still Are What We Used to Be

**Author's Note:**

> Beta read by lefaym.

_Sunday_

A grin spread across Neal's face as he stood at the arrivals gate at JFK. He raised a hand in a casual wave and he grinned even wider at the sight of Elizabeth's face lighting up when she saw him. She ran forward and threw an arm around his neck and kissed him openly on the mouth.

"How was Hawaii?" Neal asked. He reached for Peter, to hug him, but Peter turned away slightly. Neal blinked at him, his smile fading.

"Don't touch my back. Sunburn," Peter said. He studied Neal for a moment and pressed a chaste kiss to his mouth, and Neal grinned again because Peter so rarely kissed him in public for a number of reasons that Neal understood, but didn't have to like.

"Guess that answers that," Neal said. He looked to Elizabeth, who was still hooked under his arm. "Did you at least have a good time?"

Elizabeth laughed as they walked toward the baggage claim. "We both had a good time. He went almost the whole week before the sunburn. We fell asleep on the beach. At least I fell asleep under the umbrella. But the flight home was miserable for him, right, honey?"

"I don't want to think about it," Peter grumbled. "I want to forget the flight."

"Did you at least get an aloe rub down?" Neal asked, flashing his smile at Peter, and it seemed to work.

"There might have been one or two," he replied with a coy smile. "Oh, and don't let me forget. When we get home, we need to talk about something."

"What's that?"

"When we get home," Peter said with a nod and a smile that was more business-like. Still cute, but definitely not as sexy.

While Peter looked for their suitcases on the carousel, Elizabeth stayed curled at Neal's side. She scratched his back through his jacket. "We missed you. We need to stop planning these vacations around our anniversary. Or just bring you along next time anyway."

"It's all right," Neal replied, kissing the top of Elizabeth's head. "You two need your time and someone had to take care of Satch. Speaking of, he slept on your pillow. He gave me this look, I couldn't say no."

"You let him, you wash the pillowcases," she replied easily. "Did you do anything interesting while we were gone?"

Neal shook his head. "Not really."

\--- --- ---

Peter sat shirtless at the dining room table and Neal cringed, just looking at his back. It looked horrible, from the back of Peter's neck to waistband of the blue jersey shorts he changed into after they got back to the house. Neal tapped Peter's arm with the cold beer bottle. Peter looked up.

"Thanks." He took the bottle with a smile.

"Not jet-lagged?" Neal asked, walking around the table and sitting down across from Peter. Elizabeth was already up in bed, using Neal's pillow since he hadn't washed hers yet.

Peter shook his head. "Not bad. When we to the hotel last week, we slept the entire first day. We didn't wake up until morning."

"In bed all that time and you didn't even do anything interesting," Neal said, grinning and taking a drink from his own beer.

"That came later."

Neal chuckled. "What was it that you wanted to talk to me about?"

Peter rubbed at his eye with a finger and he sighed. "When we were in the airport at Honolulu, I got a phone call."

"Not a good phone call, I'm guessing."

"Nope." Peter shook his head, and though he said he wasn't jet-lagged, he looked exhausted. Travel was tiring, and the nasty sunburn couldn't be helping. "It was Lauren. Have you heard of a painting called _Noir_? Came out of France during World War II?"

Neal nodded. "I've heard of it. Stolen, I assume."

"Last night, from the Jewish Museum."

"Nice of Lauren to call while you're still on vacation. She should have called me. You should get some rest if we're going into the office tomorrow," Neal said. "Are you going to sleep on your stomach? I've never seen you do that."

Peter shook his head. "I don't have a whole lot of choice. I can sleep on my side some. But Neal, we need to talk about this."

Neal's eyes narrowed slightly. "Talk about what?"

"I don't..." Peter hesitated and took a swig from his beer. "I don't want to, but I'm going to ask you this just once: did you steal the painting?"

"Are you kidding me?" Neal dropped his bottle down on the table. "I can't believe you just asked me that."

"Please, Neal, just tell me you didn't do it."

Neal sat back in his chair, shoulders sagging. He shook his head. "I didn't do it. Peter. Are you happy?"

Peter frowned. "I'm sorry. I wasn't here to be able to vouch for you. I had to ask."

"No, you didn't. You haven't asked me that in two years. We've come across a lot of things I would have _loved_ to steal, but I didn't. Your trust, and... and, _Noir_? Really? That painting is worth two hundred thousand, tops. I would have ever wasted my time." Neal pushed his beer forward out of its condensation ring and stood up.

"Neal." Peter stood up as well, slower, and walked around the table to Neal. "I'm sorry."

Neal shook his head. "What is this? You think you can't leave me alone without a tracking anklet? After everything, you can't trust me? Do you want to count the silver? Make sure I didn't hock your thirty dollar cuff links?"

Peter took Neal by the shoulders and turned him slightly, but Neal looked down at the floor. Peter leaned his mouth close to Neal's forehead, but didn't quite make contact. "I'm _sorry_."

"I know you are."

"How long are you going to be pissed off?"

Neal shrugged and tilted his head up. "At least a day. I think I've earned that. Maybe less because I missed you."

"You want to come to bed?" Peter asked, finally smiling. "See me sleep on my stomach?"

"You go ahead," Neal replied. "I'm not anxious, my pillow smells like dog."

Peter laughed. "Good night."

"Good night, Peter." Neal leaned forward and kissed him because he knew that's what Peter wanted. He watched as Peter disappeared up the stairs, then sat down at the table again. He picked up his beer and swallowed the rest of it in just a few gulps. He deserved an Oscar for that performance.

Of course he stole painting.

\--- --- ----

_Two weeks earlier_

Neal walked into the restaurant. It was upper class and dimly lit with a piano being played in the corner. Two days earlier, he had received a simple card in the mail with a date, time, and place written on it. Curious, Neal showed up fashionably late. He slid his hands in his pockets and scanned the room until he spotted the man he was meeting. Neal's face broke out into a smile and walked to the table.

"Marcus Benoit."

"Neal Caffrey." Marcus stood, and Neal pulled him into a hug, slapping him hard on the back. Marcus still pulled his dark hair back in a ponytail, had a silver hoop in his left ear, and wore silver rings on his right thumb and index finger. His hairline started a couple inches further back than Neal remembered and he had lines around his eyes, but the smile was still the same.

"It's been too long."

Marcus took a step back and waited for Neal to sit before sitting himself. "Almost ten years and you haven't aged a day. I'm jealous." He pointed to the drink in front of Neal. "Ketel One on the rocks, right?"

"You remembered." He picked up the drink and took a sip. "How are you?"

"Busy. But not too busy to look you up before I looked you up. You work for the FBI now," Marcus said. He picked up his own glass -- scotch and soda, if Neal recalled correctly -- but didn't take a drink.

Neal shrugged. "Common knowledge."

"You live with your FBI partner." Marcus took a long sip, for the drama. "Are you screwing his wife? Him? Both?"

Neal, not remotely offended, laughed. "If you must know, both. For about two years, now."

Marcus nodded; he already knew that. "And I hear you're retired."

"For about two years now," Neal repeated with a smile. "I'm betting this isn't a social call. What's going on?"

"I need your help."

"I figured, and I'm surprised. Most people from the old days don't even look me up. I'm not in the trade anymore. There have to be a lot of people you could call on for whatever you're planning."

Marcus shook his head. "No. Neal, there's no one else I'd trust with this. This... it isn't about the money."

Neal tilted his head back as he realized what Marcus was going after. "Your grandfather's painting."

"There's an exhibition at the Jewish Museum opening Friday of artwork that came out of France during World War II from Jewish artists. It isn't a major piece. It's not even worth very much, but it's rightfully mine. You're the only one I'd trust not to screw me over. I'm not asking you for a favor. I can pay you."

"I know you would, but I live with an FBI agent. I'm his partner at work. This painting goes missing and I can guarantee you he would be on the case and I would be helping him solve it. I wouldn't out you, Marc, I'd do everything I could to protect you, but I can't help you with the heist."

Marcus smiled. "I wouldn't have asked, knowing everything I do, if I thought you'd out me to the FBI. I can't do this alone, Neal, and you're the most honest man I know."

Neal laughed. "That says something about the people you know. I'm sorry, Marc, but I'm retired."

"Is there an offer you can't refuse?"

Considering him, Neal shook his head. "I can't take money. As far as goods, I don't need anything. I still have items I can't move because I can't take the money. It's a vicious cycle."

Marcus sipped his drink. "What about a challenge?"

"Is it a challenge?"

"Depends how rusty you are. The windows on the top floor are accessible from the roof of the building next door and don't have censors, but there are cameras. You have to pass more than one, but the painting is in a blind spot. I can patch my laptop or in a pinch, my PDA, into the system and override the cameras, but I have to be inside the building to do it. There's a pair of security guards on the ground floor."

Neal considered the information. "So the guards are the biggest concern. How long will it take you to get into the system?"

"Less than sixty seconds, as long as nothing goes wrong." Marcus smiled. "But how often does _nothing_ go wrong?"

"Not very often," Neal replied with a grin. He picked up his drink and realized he was enjoying himself. He hadn't done this in a long time, and it was like riding a bike. It felt so natural and good to plan out a crime. Almost as good as it would feel if he went in there and stole the painting himself. He took a drink and sat back in his chair. "Marc, if you can guarantee that my face won't show up on a camera and no one will be able to identify me, I'll help you. I have a window open in two weeks when we can do this."

Marcus grinned. "Thank you, Neal. I can assure you, no one will link you to this. If I get busted, I won't out you, even if you're the one who busts me. You have my word."

"You're the second most honest man I know," Neal replied. "So that's good enough for me. And I think I know a way to make all of this a lot simpler."

"That's the other reason I called on you. You're always thinking."

Neal shrugged and smiled. "It's a curse."

\--- --- ---

_Monday_

Neal wasn't prone to listening in on Peter and Elizabeth's conversations. They were allowed privacy with each other the same way he was allowed privacy with each of them separately. However, it was harder to walk away when they were talking about him. He waited, halfway down the stairs, listening in. After spending all day with Peter, trying to be as helpful as possible, without being helpful at all, he took a long shower, and was looking forward to a work-free dinner discussion.

"I don't know, El, I feel like Neal's keeping something from me. Like he knows who took it."

"Well, honey, have you just asked him?" Elizabeth replied. There was the sound of ceramic against wood, her setting something onto the table, a coffee mug, probably.

Peter was quiet for a moment. Neal could picture him shaking his head. "I did last night, but I insulted him."

"How did you ask?"

"I asked him if he stole it."

"No wonder he was insulted," Elizabeth said. "He hasn't done anything illegal in two years--"

"That's not exactly true."

"All right. Nothing illegal that didn't involve solving a case. He hasn't done anything for his own gain. Just because it happened while we were gone doesn't mean anything. It doesn't make any sense that he has lived in our house, slept in our bed, washed our dishes, and cleaned your vomit off the floor that time you had a stomach bug just to steal a painting when we go on vacation. It's not even the first time we've left him here alone. He's not a child."

Peter said something, a little too soft for Neal to hear him. "...a gut feeling. I don't think he took it, but I think he knows who did. That he's covering for someone."

"Do you think he would cover for someone without a good reason?"

There was silence, and Neal knew they were having a conversation with their eyes, something they did quite well, but he didn't have to be looking at them to know what they weren't saying. They were considering the options. Mozzie? Alex? Did he sleep with her?

Instead of waiting until they changed the subject to make it less obvious he was listening in, he strolled down the rest of the stairs. He stopped in front of the table, hands in pockets, looking at them, Peter at the side of the table, and Elizabeth at the end, her back to the window.

"How much did you hear?" Peter asked. He didn't sound guilty, but his eyes betrayed him. Neal couldn't torture him for it, not when he felt bad about lying to Peter in the first place.

"Enough," Neal replied. He sat down at the table. "But what you didn't say was a lot more interesting."

"Neal, honey, no one was accusing you of anything," Elizabeth said, reaching across the table to place her hand over Neal's. She never just called him honey the way she did Peter, but always _Neal, honey_. He figured she never even realized she had made that distinction between the two of them.

Neal shrugged, rubbing his thumb over Elizabeth's fingers. "I'd appreciate it if you guys would just talk to me." He looked to Peter. "I'm not mad, don't worry about that. Though, you were right. I was very insulted. Not just because I wouldn't steal anything, but the estimated value is only a hundred fifty thousand. That's insulting, Peter."

Peter laughed. "I should have looked further into it, shouldn't I?"

"I'd appreciate that next time. Maybe you could accuse me of something worth some real money."

Elizabeth looked to Peter. "Do you think he's ever going to remember that we're not rich? I could use a hundred fifty thousand dollars."

Neal flashed her a smile. "Oh, Elizabeth, if I were going to steal you anything, it would be worth at _least_ two million."

"Don't even think about it," Peter said. He pointed a finger at Neal, but he was smiling too.

"Well, I think after dinner the two of you should have make-up sex," Elizabeth said. "With me, preferably."

Neal cocked his head to the side, looking at her. "Why wait until after dinner?"

"Because I've already cooked it," Elizabeth replied, releasing his hand and standing up. She winked at him. "And I know you like to stew. And you," she swooped down on Peter and kissed his temple, "need to be more patient."

They laughed together in a private joke, and Neal smiled. He loved it when they were sweet with each other, even more than when they were sweet with him. Robbing the museum, then being thrown right into work had served as distractions, and only right then did Neal realize how much he had missed Peter and Elizabeth being here, with him.

It also became so clear what he stood to lose if the bottom fell out.

Neal could barely eat, he was so distracted by Peter's hand on his glass and his laugh as Elizabeth said something to him, and her lips as she chewed her food, her tongue darting out to lick sauce away from her lower lip after she swallowed. Elizabeth was right; he liked to think about sex before they did it. Arousal was a process.

"Neal, honey, you've hardly touched your dinner," Elizabeth said, smiling brightly at him. She reached over and brushed her fingers against his neck. He moaned out loud and she laughed. "You are so fun to tease when you get turned on."

He turned his head and kissed her fingers. "You have that effect on people."

She laughed softly and brought her hand back to her glass.

Neal looked to Peter, and Peter smiled at him. He looked intense and jealous, but Neal was used to that. It took him months to realize Peter wasn't actually jealous, at least not because Elizabeth was touching a man who wasn't him, even if he agreed to it. He wanted them both, and wanted to be part of even their smallest moments.

"Honey, I don't know if Neal can wait any longer," Elizabeth said. "I'd hate to have to clean the underside of the table."

"I have a lot of self control," Neal said, trying to sound annoyed, but he had to smile.

Peter laughed, and it appeared Neal wasn't the only one who was impatient. Peter's eyes were eager, aroused, and happy, and he was most definitely going to suck Neal off before the night was over.

"We can wash these dishes up in the morning, right?" Peter asked.

"Yeah, but let's put this away first," Elizabeth said, motioning to the rest of the penne, "or Satch'll eat it."

While Elizabeth moved the pasta from the ceramic container into a plastic one, Peter pinned Neal to the counter from the back, holding Neal's hands to the Formica. Peter nuzzled against the back of Neal's neck. "I'm sorry."

"Stop apologizing," Neal half-moaned. "This is supposed to be make-up sex, remember? We've made up."

Peter hummed against Neal's skin. "I love you."

"I love you too," Neal replied, a little surprised. They shared verbal affection freely with Elizabeth every day, when they left the house and at the end of every phone call, but they didn't say it to each other very often. The affection was there, but not out loud. It was in the way they looked at each other, or when their hands would brush as they walked down a sidewalk, or thoughtlessly sharing a cup of coffee.

The refrigerator door shut with a slam, and Peter released Neal so they could both turn to Elizabeth. She had her hands on her hips. "And I love you both, but we don't take this upstairs, you'll have to be punished."

"Promise?" Neal asked, raising his eyebrows.

Elizabeth smirked and started unbuttoning her top as she backed out of the kitchen. "Well, I don't know if my husband or my partner are going to screw me tonight. I might have to go upstairs and take care of myself, but I think it would be a lot more fun for all of us if you guys were involved. Or at least watching." She reached the last button and let her shirt slide off her shoulders and onto the floor. She motioned to the shirt. "Pick that up."

Peter and Neal both scrambled for the shirt.

"I'm never going to get sick of this, am I?" Neal mumbled to Peter.

"Never."

\--- --- ---

Elizabeth moaned and curled herself against Neal as he wrapped an arm around her. "Happy to have us home?" she asked.

"You have no idea," he replied, grinning into the darkness. He turned his head to his other side where Peter was lying on his stomach with his arms squeezing around the pillow. "Feel well made up to?"

Peter mimed Elizabeth's satisfied moan. "I wasn't thinking about my sunburn, that's for sure."

Neal gave Peter's backside an affectionate pat beneath the blanket, and left his hand there. "Peter?"

"Yeah?"

"If I had stolen that painting, what would you have done?" He felt Elizabeth's fingernails dig slightly into his chest.

"I would have arrested you," Peter replied without missing a beat. "I would have had a good time manhandling you into the back of the car, too."

Neal raised his eyebrows, though Peter couldn't see that. "You'd arrest me and feel me up while doing so?"

"I couldn't let my personal feelings get in the way of my job. Not when it involves breaking the law. That's not a grey area, it's theft, plain and simple."

"You'd just send me back to prison?" Neal was glad Peter couldn't see his face. He was more likely to betray himself in the dark, and he was considerably out of practice at keeping his guard up around Peter and Elizabeth.

"No," Peter said, and it was his turn to sound insulted. "I'd try to get a deal. I'd do everything I could to keep you here. The tracking anklet worked out well before. But it's irrelevant because you didn't steal the painting, right?"

Neal nodded, knowing Peter could feel the movement. His curiosity had gotten the better of him, as it had so many times before. He felt the urge to talk his way out of it before Peter suspected it wasn't completely a hypothetical. "Yeah, I... I think about that kind of thing sometimes. If I slipped up, if..."

Peter shifted next to him, and after a moment, his palm rested on Neal's forehead, fingers pushing into his hair. "We'd still love you, Neal."

There was a calm assurance in Peter's voice, and Neal felt tears stinging at his eyes. He tried to blink them away so neither one of them would notice, but trying not to cry only made it harder not to.

Elizabeth pressed a kiss to his collarbone; she must have felt him trying to steady his breath. "You give us so much. I don't think we tell you that often enough. We're better with you. So never do anything stupid, okay?"

Neal choked out a laugh, and there wasn't any sense in pretending he wasn't crying. "I'll try not to."

_Try_ being the operative word.

\--- --- ---

_Tuesday_

Trying ended the next morning with a phone call and words that had gone rusty with lack of use, although they still slid off Neal's tongue with freshly oiled ease, "Moz, I need a favor."

"Hath the prodigal son returned?" Mozzie asked.

He made it sound like they never saw each other, which wasn't true. They met on a somewhat regular basis to play chess and catch up, but things were never the same between the two of them after Neal moved in with Peter and Elizabeth. He wasn't sure if Mozzie just didn't trust him, or if he was hurt in some way. They never talked about it, but slowly all the little lies and cons Neal used to solve cases became solo jobs.

"It's more like one last hurrah," Neal replied. "It's either going to solve a lot of my problems, or makes a whole mess of new ones. Meet me for lunch?"

"Sounds promising. What are you telling the suit?"

Neal smiled. "That I'm having lunch with you."

"You're telling him the _truth_?"

"I'm telling him we're playing chess, so he definitely won't want to tag along. We could in be playing in theory." Neal looked up at the sky, squinting into the sun. He didn't want to lie to Peter, but the investigation on the painting had to end. They were going to get close soon. "Meet you at June's around noon?"

"I'll be there."

June's house was neutral ground, and June was happy to take them in whenever they needed the space. She was the one person in Neal's life who didn't change when things began with Peter and Elizabeth, as if he didn't already feel enough gratitude for her.

Mozzie was already there when Neal arrived with sandwiches. It was lunch, after all.

"What problem do you need solved?" Mozzie asked, opening up the paper wrapper of the sandwich Neal had handed to him.

"I kind of did something I shouldn't have," Neal replied, "and now the FBI is investigating it. Actually, Peter and I are investigating it."

"You're investigating your own crime? What did you do?"

Neal picked at the crust on his sandwich. "Do you remember Marcus Benoit? He and I stole that Woolner bust out of DC about a year before I went into prison."

Mozzie nodded. "I remember him. Good man."

"Yeah. He contacted me a few weeks back, and wanted my help and... I helped him. We stole a painting out of the Jewish Museum."

"Oh, I should have known that was you! Who else would steal a painting in the middle of the day?" Mozzie grinned. "You haven't lost your touch. Are you back?"

Neal shook his head, but he was smiling at the validation. He didn't just miss the favors and the help, but he missed having Mozzie's friendship. It almost felt like old times, sitting in the guest room at June's house, planning. "No, it was a one time thing," he said, almost regretfully. "The painting we stole, the artist is Marcus' grandfather. It was his big mark. It was the reason he got into this in the first place. And he gave me an offer I couldn't refuse."

"The cure to boredom?" Mozzie asked.

"Yeah," Neal admitted softly. "No one thinks I did it, but Peter's pretty convinced that I know who did and I'm protecting them."

"What do you need?"

Neal sighed. "I need a distraction, as soon as possible. _Noir_ isn't worth much. If something bigger happened, it would get put on the back burner and eventually forgotten. If it gets passed off to someone else, I'm not worried. No one besides Peter would be able to put it together."

Mozzie cocked his head to the side. "So you'd like to be a benefactor."

"Yes. A very invisible one. Money needs to exchange at least five hands, and the more the better. It cannot be traced back to you or me."

"Anything in particular you'd like stolen?"

"Preferably not a painting, but if it is, nothing French. I don't want anyone even considering that the two crimes are connected. Something completely different would be best, but I really don't care what it is. As long as it's expensive and high profile."

Mozzie took a bite from his sandwich and considered Neal for a moment. He swallowed and said, "What do you need me to fence for you?"

"I have a list of items," Neal said, reaching in his pocket for the paper. He slid it across the table to Mozzie. "You know where to find them."

"Whoa." Mozzie looked over the list. "Are you sure you don't want any of the money from this?"

Neal shook his head. "It's not about the money. I just need this to be over, and I can't wait for it. I have to make it happen. And this stuff, it's just stuff I can't use and I can't move for myself. I can't bring money into the house." He paused and ran a hand over his face, sighing. "Moz, I can't thank you enough for taking care of this for me."

"I wouldn't want you to go back to prison," Mozzie said. "Really."

"I know," Neal said, and he did know, but it was still nice to hear.

\--- --- ---

_Saturday_

"You know," Elizabeth said, slicing up a block of cheese, "we don't have to watch the movie."

"What are you talking about?" Neal asked. "We've been planning this for two days. We even ran Peter out of the house at the mere mention of Jane Austen... unless getting Peter out of the house was the idea?" When Elizabeth didn't reply, he grinned. "You realize we don't have to sneak around, right? We're allowed to sleep together."

She looked over at him and smiled. "That's not why I wanted him out of the house. I wanted to talk to you about something. Alone."

"Over cheese and," Neal paused to pick up the bottle, "are we actually going to drink this pineapple wine? I appreciate you bringing me back something from Hawaii, but this really wasn't necessary. Really. It wasn't."

"There's just something that you and I need to talk about," Elizabeth said. She picked up the tray and carried out of the kitchen and set it on the table. She spun around to face Neal who had moved to the doorway, leaning against the door frame. "You stole that painting."

Neal stared at her. He could deny it. He could make the same commotion he did with Peter, but wouldn't work with Elizabeth. She wasn't asking, she was telling him. His gaze flickered to the floor. "How did you know?"

She slipped into the chair at the end of the table and patted the seat next to hers. "Sit."

He walked around the table, the bottle of wine still in his hands. He didn't put it on the table when he sat, but just held onto it, the weight comforting in his hands. Cheap wine hadn't been this reassuring since he and Kate were drinking it poured from the old Bordeaux bottle.

"When you asked Peter would he would do if you stole it. That's when I knew." Elizabeth set her elbows on the table, resting her chin on the palm of her right hand, and letting her other arm lie flat across the surface. "Why did you do it? I know it wasn't the money."

"I helped out a friend."

"I hope it was worth it because, Neal, do you know what you could have done? If you'd been caught? What would have happened?"

He looked up at her and saw that her eyes were bright with tears. He swallowed and nodded. "I know, Elizabeth, I do, but... his grandfather painted that during World War II. When his family had to leave France when the Nazis came in, they sold everything they had except that painting. It was the only thing they wanted to keep, but couldn't take with them. They gave it to a friend they thought they could trust to keep it until the war was over. But they left the country too, and the painting got lost. My friend, he's spent the last twenty years of his life trying to find it. It's all he's ever wanted."

"You can't justify this as a good deed."

"Are you going to tell Peter?"

Elizabeth didn't move, and the fear and doubt churned in Neal's stomach until she finally shook her head. "No. I've been thinking about it, and I can't bear the thought of you not being here. Peter and I... our marriage has evolved to include you. If you went back to prison, there'd be a hole, and I hope that we could survive it. You're a part of this and we need you."

Neal opened his mouth to speak, but no words came out. He always knew what to say, and for the first time in years, words failed him.

"There are things that are between me and Peter that aren't for you," Elizabeth continued, "and things between you and him that aren't for me. This is between you and me, but if this happens again--"

"It won't," Neal said quickly. "It won't, I promise. It was a one time thing."

"I believe you, and I forgive you." She slid her elbows from the table and put her hands in her lap. "I know you sacrificed a lot to be with us. Friends, your very comfortable lifestyle, and... you like stealing things. I know you do and you miss doing it, but..."

Neal finally set the bottle on the table and reached over to take Elizabeth's hands in his own. "You sacrificed a lot, too. I don't intend on screwing this up. You guys are worth it."

"Oh, Neal, honey, you cut it so close. You know Peter would have figured it out if something else hadn't come along," Elizabeth said, squeezing Neal's hand. She took a deep breath and put on a smile. "Come on. Let's put this behind us. _Pride and Prejudice_ awaits and I'm going to make you drink this wine."

He leaned in and kissed her. "I love you, Elizabeth Burke."

"I love you, too, Neal Caffrey."

They curled up together on the sofa and watched the film. Neal drank the wine, and it was as horrible as he thought it was going to be, but for once, the thought counted enough.

"We have some for Peter," he said. "Ten bucks says that he'll love it."

Elizabeth laughed and rested her head on Neal's shoulder. "Well, he did pick it out; he thought it was funny. But I don't think anyone could like it. We really did buy you the worst bottle of wine in Hawaii."

Neal stroked the soft underside of Elizabeth's arm with his thumb. "You know, my friend, he knew that I was living here and he asked me how it happened. How you go from being a felon to sleeping with an FBI agent, the one who caught you, no less, and his wife."

"What did you tell him?"

"I told him it was all in thanks to a beautiful, unselfish woman who realized her husband and his partner were in love with each other and didn't seem to know it themselves. She was the one who encouraged it, not knowing what it would do to her marriage or that partnership. That she's the reason we're here today as we are."

"I wasn't totally unselfish, you know. It wasn't just for your and Peter's benefits. I'd been in love with you since that first day you came to the house. I suddenly understood why my husband was so obsessed with you. I couldn't say or do anything until I knew Peter was, too because it had to be both of us. But looking back on it, I think he fell for you years ago when he was trying to catch you. It was just wrapped up in everything else."

Neal smiled and hugged Elizabeth closer to his chest. "Well, I was the one who got away. Until that time I didn't."

Elizabeth snickered, and they turned their attention back to the movie.

The next thing he remembered was a hand gently shaking his knee. He opened his eyes to see Peter sitting on the coffee table smiling at him and a sleeping Elizabeth like they were the most beautiful thing he'd ever seen. Maybe they were.


End file.
